Till Death
by JimmyDANj2
Summary: "Just because we'll be married doesn't mean we're friends. Are we understood?" The idea of it - promising his life to a stranger, as she was doing - was like tar, acrid on his tongue. It mired him, black and bitter end to end, but these are children's worries. It's when war encroaches that their world slips from their fingers. Friends or not, together they hit the ground running.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Yeah, yeah, another Ashe/Tryndamere arranged marriage AU thing. I'm full of 'em.

* * *

Till Death

When first he met her, he had to confess that she seemed to him a spoiled, ornery princess with no recourse but to agree to the situation so as to satisfy daddy.

"It's nice to…" she sniffed, as if something unsavory lingered beneath her nose. "…finally meet you, Mr. Fell."

Her features were drenched in disdain as she looked upon him; eyes half-lidded, fingers slender as they drummed against the table, lips contorted in the most insincere semblance of courtesy he ever did see.

"Likewise."

"Well," she gave a grandstanding sigh that couldn't _help_ but convey her utmost dissatisfaction. "I'm going to be frank. You aren't quite what I expected, not that I have any choice in the matter."

"Thanks," he very nearly managed without that contemptible bit of biting sarcasm. "I try my best."

She twitched, tongue no doubt sharp with readied reprimand, but ignored him in favor of continuing.

"When we're to be wed," she talks as if of the weather. "It's to be in name only. You're not to touch me, visit me, or _talk_ to me unless and _only_ if the situation calls for it. Separate rooms are a given, of course."

Her impertinence well and truly struck something within him, and he felt it: the coal-black yearnings to lash out, his intentions mired in the sluggish trappings of indignation, pooling as churning magma, flames licking at his insides, scorching his lungs with the longing to remind this coddled princess _why_ they were enemies-

But he reigned it in, if only because he knew he must.

"Lady Uspart," he mumbled quietly. "This union is important. So vital that our fathers put everything they had on the line to ensure its success. If there's any notion at all for this war to finally _cease-_ "

"And it'll _happen_ , won't it?" she waved it off. "I promised Father I would, so I will. But just because we'll be married doesn't mean we're friends. Are we understood?"

He could feel the smirk lingering in the corner of her lips without looking up. Bathed in the steady gaze of blue, he was privy to the storms brewed behind her lids, a maelstrom in each eye.

And if only to release himself from her sound, her fury, he relented.

"We are."

* * *

War surfaces like the steady vacillation of waves to a shoreline, like the drone of vermin on forest wall. It's the sort of meandering dread that wraps around the throat, has the consistency of sludge that envelops slowly, that drums on the senses in a way that never comes all at once. A realization that doesn't strike until a tower of corpses are already heaped at one's back.

When they struck, it was only sheer luck that spared his life. And for that same life, he couldn't comprehend why he didn't just _stick_ to self-preservation. Whatever possessed him to save _her_ as well must have been demonic and foul indeed.

Houses rend apart, towers of blaze roaring high enough to obscure the distant mountain, the screams of the dying mingling like some sordid symphony.

Their feet slapped against muddied snow as they tore across pavement, his hand forcibly tugging hers along.

"F-F-Fell," her teeth chattered, whether from fear or cold he didn't spare a thought to find out. "Why is this happening? How can this have-"

Typical of her to crumble when the chips were down. He expected no less.

"I don't know which clan they're from, yours or mine. It makes no difference. Insurgents are who they are because they're dissatisfied with how things are going. In this case, it's undoubtedly our wedding, sham though it was. They don't want peace. They don't want our union. Maybe you should go running into their arms, hm?"

" _Listen,_ you," she hissed. "Where do you get off sounding so bitter? I've made it clear from the onset that I think this marriage is _bullshit_. That doesn't mean I _like_ this god-forsaken war."

A flower of blood, blooming at his right shoulder, the bullet seconds fresh.

"Save your preaching, Uspart," Fell smiled grimly at her gaze of blue, suddenly wide with panic. "You can yak all you want when we've escaped."

"Fell-"

" _When we've escaped_ , princess."

"Why aren't you ever angry?"

He groaned. Trudging through the snow past the outskirts of town was no small miracle, but they managed it, bleeding shoulder notwithstanding.

"Is this really the time?" Fell felt his vision blur.

"Look, I've…railed against you and spat at you, and you've never done a thing but take it. You've even been – ugh – _kind_ to me."

She almost wiped at her lips as if to clear it of slime.

"I'm no _prince_ , despite my status, Uspart."

"Oh," she snorted. "Where would I be if I didn't know _that_ much."

It was important she did not misunderstand. He was pleased she didn't.

Things were quiet except for the seething blizzard snapping at their heels, howling at the setting sun as it bled into the earth. Light refracted off of glistening banks of snow to the wrap the air in a dull, misty crimson, reminding Fell of death's crossing. The aftermath of battle.

"…I'm sorry, Tryndamere."

Huh. His given name. That was a first.

"For what, _Ashe?_ " he returned the favor, and it was genuine for the first time. Mostly.

"For everything I've been until now. It's…it's never really been you or anything. Mom – before, y'know – always got it in my head that marriage is fairytales and silver bells and royal drapery fluttering in the breeze. She made it out to be once in a lifetime. Using it for...for _diplomacy_ felt like spitting in her memory."

"I get it," he said simply. "If you want, we can try again."

His wound must have caused delirium.

"Pardon?"

"Vows."

Again, she snorted.

"Fine, if only because I want to really stick it to those traitors. You start."

He grinned, and with all manner of mocking:

"In _sickness_ and in _health_ …"

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I miss writing these two. This is most likely going to be a two-shot, and the next chapter is already pretty much written so expect it sometime soon, probably within the next few days.

I promise _And the Manacles Dissolve_ is going to get updated at some point, for those of you who still care lol, I just need to find my bearings.

Review, if you have the time? I'd love to hear your thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Here it is, part 2 as promised! Enjoy.

* * *

 _Post-Insurgency, Year One_

"Hey, so how'd it – HEAVENS ABOVE!"

Cupping hands to mouth, she stared in abject horror and shrank back as he drew nearer.

"Calm down. It's not as if I grew an arm. Quite the opposite," he laughed grimly, shouldering his way into the dingy room, taking care to distance himself.

Noticing, she sighed.

"Look, don't – I'm sorry, okay? It's just a shock, is all. I didn't think they'd have to…to…"

"Infection set in," he shrugged, but she wasn't fooled. "It was amputate or die, they told me. I wasn't afforded much choice. Then again, you would've had me out of your hair, eh?"

" _Don't talk like that!"_

Startled, he looked to her.

"Fell," she chewed her lip. "Was I really so awful as to make you think like that? I don't hate you. I don't, you understand?"

"It was just a joke, Uspart."

"You have poor taste."

He laughed, well and truly this time.

She glared, but had one more question.

"Did it hurt?"

"Are you stupid? Hell _yes_ it hurt. _God,_ I can still feel it being hacked off, down to this second."

* * *

 _Year 2_

She gave him a withering glance.

"Okay, before you begin, let me just say in my defense – "

"Yeah? Let me hear it."

"…I have no defense."

"Our. Entire. Week's. Budget."

He shrank, still grasping for straws, still floundering like a man without oxygen in the wake of her ire.

"He was very convincing," he tried, somehow small in stature. "Very convincing."

"I'm sure he was."

She snatched the satchel from him, and he winced at the metallic patter. A few motes of silver spilled onto the sidewalk.

"From now on, I handle finances. Agreed?"

He did. Oh, he did.

* * *

 _Year 3_

"They've reported back?"

He nodded, sitting down where she'd scooted to make space.

"My father's dead."

A tentative hand on his remaining shoulder, but she didn't have the words.

"Oh, Fell," she settled. "I'm…I don't know what to –"

"I don't either," he dumped his chin on his hand. "It still hasn't really hit, I guess."

"Tryndamere – " His first name, sweet against her throat, foul against the blanketing chill of loss and the heady throb of lilac on his nose.

Fingers, petite and calloused, feathered against his elbow.

"We're not taking this lying," she whispered. "We won't, you know that."

He looked her way.

He's heard children's rhymes of how vengeance consumes. Of how pitting rot against rot did no one any favors.

But he saw in her eyes passion, molten and golden and it seared him and it was a million serrated blades against his soul, and he was cleaved and parts of him scattered to the wind.

His hand clutched at his chest.

He thought back to the rhymes.

Meaningless platitude. Mere pittances of chatter.

He, and she, both knew that some things are not possible to leave undone.

* * *

 _Year 4_

"You _draw?!_ "

"Not well."

"Not well, my – Fell, these are amazing!"

"Well, thanks, I guess."

"I've known you for how long? And just now I find out you're an artist."

"I'm _hardly_ – "

"Is this is of… _me?_ "

"Where did you – give that back."

"Oh my God, you drew me. Well, _Tryndamere_ , all you had to do was ask."

"Shut up."

"I didn't realize I was so _beautiful_ as to – "

"Ashe."

"Yeeeees?"

"I will treat you to muffins _and_ a flavor of shortcake – your choice – if you never mention this again."

"My lips are sealed."

"You can stop smirking, while you're at it."

* * *

 _Year 5_

A body flew past, and he let it, twisting aside with practiced nonchalance.

"They're really playing hard ball now, Tryndamere," she said, chewing a fig quite absentmindedly.

Blood adorned the streets, gave the winter color, and he thought back to when they were first driven out.

He leaned against her, sighed, smeared red across his brow.

"Then so will we."

At the fore, the man with gestured with one arm, and their army rumbled.

* * *

 _Year 7_

"So how does it feel? Back at the throne."

"'Throne'? That's a laugh and half. This is hardly a kingdom."

"Figure of speech, you dunce. Point is, we've done it."

"So we have. Wonder if our parents would be happy."

"Search me."

They paused, both staring listlessly at the flames crinkling cheerfully in the fireplace.

"Well," he shrugged - for the _billionth_ time since they've met, and she rolled her eyes – and gestured to their surroundings. "If this is a 'kingdom' then I guess the Queen should be the one who has redecorating privilege. This cabin is pretty bare, but it's your call."

"Whoa, whoa, buster," she raised a brow, amused. "Since when am I the Queen? _Your_ parents lived here, after all. My clan's long gone."

His glance _dripped_ disdain.

"Ashe, do I really have to spell it out?"

She laughed.

And laughed and laughed. Her sides surely wouldn't survive.

"Why, _Mr. Fell_ ," she placed a dainty hand to her chest and her eyelashes flapped like _butterflies_ and he nearly puked.

"Is this truly necess –"

"Are you, perchance, asking –"

"Please, lord have mercy," he groaned.

" – _Little old me_ to marr –"

" _Yes._ For heaven's sake, of course I am. You witch."

Still caught up, she hugged him. His frame shook with her laughter.

"You're a dork."

"You'll never let me live this down, I suppose."

"What gave it away?"

And he knew, one way or another, she'd be the death of him.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** And there it is! I hope no one's too disappointed by how short it was, but I wanted it like this; short, concise, just their interactions stripped bare and not much else. I realize a lot of it makes you feel like you're floating through space with how ambiguous I made the setting, but that's sort of how I wanted it to come across. Hope it worked out. There is a tiny _tiny_ chance of this getting a continuation, but don't get your hopes up. Right now, this fic is considered finished.

Review? :)


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